


I Scream, You Scream

by Jadzialove



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, snarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzialove/pseuds/Jadzialove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eating ice cream had never been so complicated...or rewarding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Scream, You Scream

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written in response to snape_potter's 2006 May theme: Fluffy Beginnings. Don't let that put you off if you don't care for the fluff, it didn't come out sugary-sweet at all.
> 
> It might be a good thing that Mr. Broun [see quote below] is long gone, as I’m fairly certain that this is not at all what he had in mind.
> 
> Thank you, Vaughn, for the always quick and insightful beta work. And thank you, joanwilder for being a wonderful and willing sounding board.

  
**_“I doubt whether the world holds for any one a more soul-stirring surprise than the first adventure with ice cream.” Heywood C. Broun quotes (American Writer, 1888-1939)_**   
  
  
****  
  
Harry Potter looked out at the small crowd in his shop, feeling more than a little shocked. He’d suspected, for weeks now, that something was afoot, but hadn’t quite been able to put his finger on what it was.  
  
Cardamom Spice wasn’t a popular ice cream flavor, after all; though it was Harry’s favorite, which is why it was still in the glass display case charmed to keep its contents at just the right temperature—not so cold that the ice cream was too hard, not so warm that it was soupy. It sat banished to the back corner behind the ordinary but popular flavors like vanilla, peanut butter, and chocolate. Even the more exotic flavors, like Saffron Pistachio, or better yet, Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Ice Cream, which contained little bits that caused the brave (or foolish) individual to experience a unique (and very often disgusting) flavor burst in every spoonful (sold mostly in response to a dare), were much more popular than Cardamom Spice.   
  
So when it’s ordered, it gets Harry’s attention, as it had five weeks ago—the very first time someone else had actually ordered it.   
  
That alone was a novelty, but twice a week since then, at the same time of the day, a single person has come into the shop, ordered the Cardamom Spice, and sat at the same café table near the back. Odder still was that it was a _different_ person, following the same routine, each time.  
  
Today, however, his suspicions were confirmed in a big way, as he watched Piers Polkiss place the Cardamom Spice order and then make his way to the table near the back.   
  
Piers Polkiss. In his _Diagon Alley_ shop.   
  
~~*~~  
  
Severus Snape handed the witch behind the counter— _Hufflepuff_ , he recalled, _apparently living up to her full potential_ —the appropriate Sickles and Knuts, and then took his guilty pleasure to his now customary table and sat in his now customary chair, back to the wall, facing the room.  
  
Plunging the spoon into the frozen mounds, he scooped up the first bite and deposited the cold, creamy goodness onto his eager tongue. It was a delight to his palate as he discerned each element that comprised the subtle flavor: cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, and the barest hint of vanilla. He closed his eyes and savored the cool treat as it slid down his throat, leaving a brief trail of cold in its wake.  
  
It took less time than he would have liked, but he’d consumed the entire portion in much the same manner—each spoonful a sensuous experience of its own. If he’d been capable of it, at his age and experience, he thought he might be embarrassed by what was quickly becoming an obsession. This delectable indulgence had grabbed hold of his senses, and he knew that he was fortunate he’d managed to hold himself to this pleasure only twice a week, rather than the daily luxury he wished it to be.   
  
The measures he took to appear satisfyingly anonymous during his treks into Diagon Alley, however, were extreme, questionably ethical, and quite probably a shade on the wrong side of legal; and therefore, too troublesome to warrant risking more often than that.   
  
The effort had been worth it well before he’d discovered the delights Potter’s shop had to offer, of course. While he hadn’t experienced any open hostility or direct threats to his life and limb from the public at large after his part in the war effort had been revealed, the gawking, the whispering speculation, and the subtle shifting of little ones to the other side of their mother’s skirts when he passed had driven him mad, and then had driven him to take the extreme measures.  
  
But having stumbled upon the sumptuous Cardamom Spice, after sampling several others in the selection, he no longer cared that he was walking a fine line.  
  
~~*~~  
  
Harry boggled for a moment at the incongruity. As a man, Piers Polkiss had retained his rat-like appearance, and from what Harry could tell, he seemed to still be rather small in stature. And this man, a living, breathing unpleasant reminder of an even more unpleasant childhood, was currently consuming that ice cream in a way that was no less than erotic. Harry ignored the slightest twitch of interest he’d experienced while watching the display. It was the scene, of course, not the man; even if Piers hadn’t been a notorious git of the highest order—and as far as Harry knew, straight as a pin—he was absolutely not Harry’s type at all.   
  
During the last few months of the war, after a Death Eater incident at the Burrow, Harry had reunited with Ginny, and he’d found a bit of solace with her that’d helped carry him through to the end. But once Voldemort had been vanquished, and the dust had settled, they’d realized, almost at the same moment, that there was a vast emptiness between them. Without the constant threat, without the stress, without the teamwork of a dire shared goal, there had been nothing left. They’d parted very amicably, each a little bemused at the turn of events, and Harry had been disappointed rather than heartbroken.   
  
Then Hermione, with her infinite wisdom and incredible insight, had introduced Harry to Finn McGuigan. He had a lanky sort of build, a quick smile, the careless grace of a natural athlete, and the face of a dark Celtic god. And in that very first meeting, Finn had looked at Harry in a way that had turned his world upside-down. Nobody, not one single person in his entire life’s experience, had ever looked at Harry in that way before. It’d made him burn and tingle from the tips of his ears down to his toes (as well as some really interesting places in between), and he’d found himself fighting the unexpected urge to devour Finn whole—starting with his plump lower lip. Having never felt that way about anyone before, male or female, he’d experienced a moment of alarm. But the rush of excitement and powerful desire had wiped the fear right out of his mind.   
  
With Ginny, it had been about comfort; with Finn, he’d discovered an unexpected and dazzling world of passion and pleasure. And being his first, Harry reckoned Finn had set the tone for his taste, which ran toward tall and dark—not at all short and rodent-like.  
  
As he watched, Piers scraped his spoon along the sides of the dish, seeking every last drop, and then put the spoon into his mouth, sighing in contentment and sucking on the utensil. While he could very much understand the love of Cardamom Spice, Harry also knew that there was no way that Piers Polkiss was the person currently experiencing a blissful ice cream afterglow.  
  
His curiosity had been piqued, but there was also a potential danger here. Concealing one’s identity was not done without a reason, and it was time to get to the bottom of it.  
  
He sized up the man and decided that the illusion was too extensive, too precise to be a glamour. That meant that unless the real Piers Polkiss had suddenly developed some magic, Harry was dealing with Polyjuice Potion. He considered his options; an outright confrontation was out of the question—this called for something much more subtle. It stood to reason that the look-alike would have no knowledge of Harry’s history with Piers, he surely wouldn’t have ventured into this shop otherwise. He would use that to his advantage.  
  
Deciding his course of action, Harry made his way toward the back, fixing a friendly smile on his face as he moved casually, but purposefully toward his target. He almost faltered, however, when his quarry spotted him; while the sneer that was aimed toward him did not look out of place on Piers’ face, it was fantastically reminiscent of another sneering countenance. So much so that Harry had to take a breath and think quickly.   
  
It wasn’t possible, was it? Though he loathed doing it, there was a way to find out. He reached out using _Legilimency_ with the lightest of touches, so as not to alert the look-alike to his presence, and came up against impenetrable walls.   
  
_Occlumency_ was an obscure practice that the average witch and wizard had never heard of. There were very few who knew of it, and fewer still that’d mastered it. He’d seen these walls before. There was still a chance that this was someone else, but a master _Occlumens_ with a healthy supply of Polyjuice Potion? It had to be him.  
  
The question was: why?   
  
The new information had him revising his original plan. This would be interesting.  
  
~~*~~  
  
 _Damn it to hell_ , the boy had spotted him. Had he given himself away somehow? He fixed a sneer onto his face, just in case he hadn’t, hoping that Potter would feel unwelcome to greet this particular customer. Of course it had no effect on the brat, as it rarely had, even when Severus had delivered it with his own face.  
  
He’d have to rethink his position for next time; he’d boxed himself in with Potter cutting off his only escape route, and since he didn’t want to make a scene, Severus resigned himself to dealing with this setback, hoping to make a hasty exit.   
  
Of course, he didn’t loathe the boy as much as he had when Potter actually had been a boy. He could, in fact, acknowledge, if only in the security of his own mind, that he actually liked the brat. And while he was being so forthright with himself, he could also admit that observing the boy surreptitiously, as he charmed the customers, had been an unexpected benefit of being anonymous.  
  
Their uneasy alliance during the latter portion of the war had given way to an odd sort of association wherein they would meet, on occasion, needle one another, share Potter’s excellent scotch and some surprisingly entertaining conversation. He’d been forced to admit that the boy was not nearly as dimwitted as he’d presumed, and that he possessed a dark sense of humor that Severus found very appealing.  
  
He did wonder why Potter spent so much time in this shop though. He was a veritable tycoon of business, owning shares in most of the new businesses in Diagon Alley due to his personal reconstruction efforts, and a large piece of some Quidditch team or another. Potter’s foundation had even funded some of Severus’ own research projects, yet he spent his days in a sweet shop. A quirk, he supposed, along the same line as Potter’s insistence on wearing Muggle clothes rather than proper wizards’ robes.  
  
“Piers?” Potter pulled the chair out, moved it closer to Severus, neatly and effectively blocking his exit, and straddled it so that he could lean forward into the back of it. “I’m so glad you’re here! I thought you said you wouldn’t come to the Alley anymore, that it was too painful a reminder that you’re a Squib.”  
  
There was a gleam in Potter’s eye that Severus had trouble reconciling with what he knew of him, but he nearly jumped out of the chair when it was accompanied by a hand rubbing Severus’ thigh. His first thought, _Merlin, a little higher, boy_ , was quickly followed by, _Potter’s gay?!_   
  
He managed to grind out, “Potter,” in response to the greeting.  
  
 _Of all the idiotic_.... He’d not only managed to pluck a hair from a Muggle who was not a Muggle at all, but also to pluck said hair from someone intimately acquainted with The bloody Boy Who Lived.  
  
“Are you angry with me, Piersy? You were pretty happy the last time we met.” Potter pouted prettily, and then walked his fingers up the dark blue robes that Severus had chosen for this identity, sliding suggestively under the loose sleeve and running lightly along the forearm he found there. “Whatever it is, I’ll make it up to you. Why don’t you come upstairs with me?”  
  
“Ah, perhaps another time...Harry.” Severus almost stumbled over the name, but as someone apparently of intimate acquaintance, this _Piers_ could hardly refer to him as _Potter_. And it hadn’t been nearly as uncomfortable to say as he would have imagined, which was troubling. He had to vacate this shop, and soon.  
  
Potter’s green-eyed gaze, which Severus still found astonishing without the ridiculous glasses to impede it, searched his face. “Are you sure, Piers? I can make it worth your while.”  
  
The hands were back on his legs, both of them, and higher this time; the invitation’s refusal died on Severus’ lips. It was unconscionable, really, what he was now considering—deceiving Potter in this way. But the attention was heady, and so rarely directed at him by anyone, let alone this attractive young man, that his body was screaming for him to accept what was being offered.   
  
Here was an opportunity that he was certain he’d never receive in his own skin; though, he could not fathom Potter’s attraction to this scrawny man, how could he possibly pass it up?   
  
He’d done much worse, for far less pleasing rewards.   
  
Quickly calculating the time he had remaining—he’d apportioned enough of the potion for four hours, and had dosed himself for the third time before coming into the ice cream shop twenty minutes ago, leaving him with an hour’s worth in his flask—he determined that he had approximately an hour and forty minutes. He’d have to find a way to take the remaining dose, if he took it now, he’d lose the forty minutes, but he was certain he could manage it. He could always Apparate away, if need be. Potter would be confused, but no real harm would be done.  
  
Now, something suitably banal in response to the invitation... “Worth my while, eh? Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”  
  
“Really?” Severus thought he detected a bit of surprise in Potter’s face, but it passed quickly into a brilliant smile. The hand dragged itself up Severus’ torso as Potter stood and moved the chair back under the table in one smooth motion. “All right then, why don’t you go on up, you know the way. I’ll be right there—I have to let Tilda know that she’ll be on her own.”  
  
Severus was graced with another glowing smile before Potter turned away. Had half his blood supply not been otherwise engaged, he might have retained the faculties to be suspicious, but there was only one thought on his mind now: if only this one time, he would have Harry Potter.   
  
~~*~~  
  
 _Cripes, now what do I do?_ Harry pressed a hand to his heart, which was beating erratically, as he walked to the counter. He had no doubt now that it was Snape, but he’d never, ever, in a million years, expected the man to say yes. He couldn’t believe his own audacity either.   
  
Honestly, there had been no choice in the matter. How could he not take advantage of the fact that Snape seemed to be interested in what Harry was offering? _Bloody Half-Blood Prince_ , the emphatically-denied crush of his youth was now biting him in the arse. He’d jumped into it without thinking it through—that was for certain. Now that he’d got himself into the situation, though, he had to apply more thought to it.   
  
He’d been so reluctant to ruin their...was it a friendship? Yes, he reckoned it was exactly that. Not willing to ruin it, he’d kept his feelings to himself, certain that Snape would want no part of it. It appeared he’d been wrong about that. So what to do about it? Seduce him, and then hope he would want more?  
  
 _Deep breath_ — _get a grip_. What he needed was to take it a little bit at a time. The situation, as it stood now, was that, as he had no desire or any intention to become familiar with Piers Polkiss’ personal bits, he’d have to wait out the Polyjuice...or was there an antidote? God, where was Hermione when he needed her? He looked over his shoulder to make sure that Snape was still there and saw him/Piers walking toward the doorway that led to the stairs.  
  
“Are you okay, Harry?” Tilda asked hesitantly, interrupting what was sure to have been the start of a very nice panic attack, thank you very much.  
  
“Ask me again tomorrow—if I’m still alive, that is,” he muttered in response. She looked at him peculiarly, so he continued with more authority, “Can you handle things by yourself until Julian comes to relieve you, Tilda? I’ve a...er, friend here, one I haven’t seen in a while.”   
  
It wasn’t a total lie; he’d not seen Snape in about two weeks, and technically he hadn’t seen him yet today either. Actually, he’d seen him twice a week for over a month but hadn’t known it was Snape, so that didn’t count.   
  
_Gah!_ This was getting complicated.  
  
“Sure, no problem.” Tilda shrugged and moved down the counter to give it a bit of a wipe up—and that’s when he saw it.   
  
The Cardamom Spice.  
  
The possibilities suddenly seemed endless. He formulated a new plan and gathered the materials he’d need. He was going to have to make the sacrifice and actually kiss Piers, only to distract him; he’d work out how he would accomplish that without vomiting when the time came. Then he’d wait patiently for the potion to wear off.  
  
The man had fairly made love to the spoon he was using earlier, so if all else failed, he could always bribe him with the ice cream.  
  
He pressed on his racing heart once again. What does a bloke do when something he’d wanted fiercely and without any real hope was suddenly laid at his feet? Every ‘happily ever after’ fantasy he’d ever dreamt up was currently jockeying for position, wanting attention first, thrilled to be dusted off and relived after such a long time locked away.   
  
_Easy, boyo, one thing at a time_. Deciding it might be best to find out if this was going to be more than a one-off (if it happened at all) before he started picking out bed linens and china patterns, he tamped down the frenzied fantasies, stiffened his spine and walked toward the staircase. If Severus let him, he’d give him the afternoon of his life, and a taste of what could be his for the asking.  
  
~~*~~  
  
It’d been several months since Severus had been in the upper level of the building that housed Potter’s shop. The front room had been turned into an office when Potter had moved into that house of his, but the rest of the flat, oddly, still looked exactly the same. As in—presently inhabited.   
  
That little mystery helped to keep him from dwelling on what would likely shape up to become one of his five worst decisions of all time—fitting snugly under his decision to take the Dark Mark, and nestling comfortably just above letting Sirius Black goad him into following that damnable tunnel. However reluctant he was to admit it, he actually enjoyed Potter’s company, and did not wish to jeopardize the unexpectedly agreeable association they’d developed in the last six years.  
  
It hadn’t escaped him either that this could very well be some sort of elaborate prank, though he doubted it. Potter didn’t have the cold calculation required for that sort of delayed vengeance.  
  
The man in question clattered up the stairs and bestowed Severus with another of those bright, warm smiles, and he felt his innards unclench slightly. No, most definitely not cold.   
  
“How come you’re standing in the hallway? Come back this way, why don’t you?” Potter put a hand on his arm, tugging him toward a door at the end of the hall. As he passed Severus, he shifted something in his other arm.  
  
“Is that...?”   
  
Potter grinned and nodded. “I have to say... _Piers_ , that I’ve never seen anyone enjoy anything as much as you enjoyed that ice cream. Gave me all sorts of good ideas.” Potter waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Severus felt weak in the knees. The Cardamom Spice would never be the same.  
  
Severus took in the room as they entered and his earlier observations about the inhabitance of the flat seemed to be reinforced here with the lived-in furnishings, the carelessly strewn clothing, and the detritus of daily living. Before he could stop himself, he asked, “You are still living here, aren’t you?”  
  
Potter looked sheepish, but did not respond. “Why on earth? You have that enormous house in the countryside.”   
  
The green eyes searched his own, seeming to weigh his answer, and then looked away. “I... It’s just easier to stay here sometimes, that’s all.”  
  
Severus felt compelled to pursue the matter; when Potter looked back up to see if he’d bought the excuse, he raised an eyebrow expectantly at the boy, not letting him off that easily.   
  
After a resigned sigh, Potter set the ice cream on the chest of drawers next to him and said, “I thought that’s what I wanted—the seclusion, the space to breathe. But it’s just so big. And empty. How can something so big feel so oppressive?”  
  
Because he knew loneliness and understood completely, he reached up (disconcerting, to be shorter) and stroked the boy’s cheek. Something warm and wonderful washed over him. And he realized in that moment that he actually cared a great deal about the boy...man...Harry, he realized with an unsettling and bone-deep ache that he wanted, with every fiber of his being, to have those eyes looking at _him_ the way they were currently looking at this Piers person.   
  
He had to put an end to this charade.  
  
Harry, however, had other ideas. He closed the distance between them before Severus could formulate an objection, kissing him, stealing away Severus’ breath, his thoughts, his will. He was being maneuvered backwards, and let it happen, and when he felt the bed behind his legs, he complied with being pushed back against it, lost in the mind numbing kisses.  
  
His awareness returned to him only when he realized that his arms were bound, silky ties wrapped around his wrists and tied securely to the bedposts on either side. Harry straddled his hips and leant forward with his hands on Severus’ chest, but his elbows on the bed. “What are you doing?”  
  
Harry graced him with another of those smiles and stated incredibly, “I wanted to make sure you didn’t run away before the Polyjuice wore off, Severus.”  
  
Stunned was not strong enough for what he felt at the moment. Neither was astonished, astounded, staggered, or even that atrocious ‘gobsmacked’. He was speechless, but the brat nodded and smiled smugly, as if Severus had spoken. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to soothe his pride and as much as he hated to admit it, his utter disappointment.   
  
It had been a prank after all.   
  
Anger swelled within him, and the boy must have sensed the storm coming—he lifted a hand and the door slammed closed. Severus heard the lock click into place, and became aware that his wand was out of reach. He didn’t need a wand to Apparate, however. He concentrated on his own study, but his efforts proved fruitless.  
  
“Anti-Apparation wards. The whole building.” Potter continued to smile at him, and he resigned himself to being the brat’s prisoner for now; perhaps he could convince him to loosen the bonds, which he could now feel were magically enhanced. Severus cursed his own success in training the boy; he’d taught him all of it, though the wandless magic was all Potter.   
  
And then he cursed his own twisted libido because he was still aroused, and Potter’s position wasn’t helping matters. “What do you want from me, Potter?”  
  
He ground a surprising hardness into Severus’ and said, “I thought that was pretty obvious, Severus. And I believe it’s the same thing that you want—I don’t have any firsthand knowledge, but I’m fairly certain that Piers’ tiny prick has never been this hard.” Potter pressed in again, sending a crackle of pleasure through Severus. “But if I have to spell it out for you, then what I want...is _you_.”  
  
For the second time in one afternoon, Harry Potter managed to thoroughly astound him. Ignoring the tiny prick business because it was really of no consequence to him, he asserted, “You couldn’t possibly, it’s preposterous.”  
  
“I could, and I do.” Harry leant forward and whispered into his ear, “I’ve never told you, have I, that the Half-Blood Prince is still my reigning wank fantasy? Since I was sixteen, Severus, I’ve been thinking of you,” he nipped his earlobe and continued, “while I wank.”   
  
At his look of utter disbelief, for surely he could not accept that as the truth, Potter continued, “It’s true. I’ll admit that before I knew it was you, he looked a little bit like Sirius. But the images merged very nicely...into you.” The warm, seductive brush of the whisper against his ear paled in comparison to the image of Harry Potter pleasuring himself—while thinking of Severus Snape. Not even the mention of Black could diminish the heated lust coiling within him. “Even when I hated you, I was thinking of you,” another nip on the ear, “...when I came.”  
  
Severus closed his eyes in an effort to gain some control—he was fairly panting with want, with an aching need, his body screaming for more. Harry worked open the fastenings on Severus’ robes and trousers, and Severus felt fingers brushing over his torso, then worrying the nipples into peaks, creating little shocks of pleasure with each pinch. He cracked an eye open; the boy was smiling irresistibly at him again.   
  
Merlin help him.   
  
“I figured you’d need these open when the potion wore off—rat-boy is a lot shorter than you are.” He smiled again, and Severus realized that he was sunk.  
  
His response evaporated though, as he felt his body chemistry, already engaged in arousal, momentarily shift its purpose. His arms and legs lengthened, his chest broadened, his nose was once again within his field of vision. Using the Polyjuice had been highly effective for him over the last few years; however, he’d never before been so thankful to be in his own skin again.   
  
“There you are,” Harry purred, then shifted his hips, aligning himself with Severus’ own hard length, creating a wonderful friction, even through the layers of clothing. “Oh, god, and there _you_ are. Mmmmmm, much better.”  
  
Severus could scarcely believe the providence that the universe had seen fit to bestow upon him. Harry’s face was now inches from his own, and he searched it, finding sincerity there, that glowing warmth, a bit of uncertainty and something unfathomably intense. He couldn’t wait a moment longer, and yielding to the overwhelming feeling, he lifted his head, arms still bound, and closed the short distance, capturing Harry’s lips with his very own this time. With a moan he deepened the kiss, which was returned with equal fervor, plunging in, tasting the sweetest nectar ever offered to him, reveling in the firm lips pressed against his, the seeking tongue twining with his own.   
  
Harry whispered, “Yes,” against Severus' mouth, reverently, as if in answer to an age old question, and then moved his attention over Severus’ jaw, down his neck, paying particular attention to the sensitive skin just below Severus’ ear. Severus closed his eyes and rode the wave of pleasure Harry was creating.   
  
An unusual noise near his ear had him opening his eyes once again to find a bowl hovering nearby, and Severus marveled at the power and control so casually displayed—the boy never missed a beat, and yet managed to maintain control over the dish. He then promptly forgot to think about anything as he realized the implication of the hovering treat.  
  
Harry stopped his ministrations long enough to take a scoop of the frozen treat into his kiss-swollen mouth. With a gleam in his eye, he leant forward and kissed Severus, passing him the cold, sweet cream, which cooled and thrilled and slid down his welcoming throat. Severus sucked Harry’s tongue, making certain not to miss a drop, and Harry smiled around the kiss as a moan escaped Severus once again.   
  
Shifting slightly, Harry brought a spoonful just to Severus’ lips, teasing him, running the melting confection along the thin line and then down his chin and neck, leaving a trail to the middle of his chest. Severus sucked in a breath as the cold spoon circled one nipple and then the other, leaving a chilly puddle of the ice cream on each, which Harry lapped up greedily with his warm lips and tongue. It was exquisite, this torture, enjoyed while still savoring the Cardamom Spice and Harry’s kisses on his own tongue.  
  
If he hadn’t been lost before, he certainly was now. No experience in his lifetime had prepared him for what he felt, surrendering to the attention of this beautiful young man, one he’d actually come to care about, and he waited breathlessly for what would come next.  
  
~~*~~  
  
Harry couldn’t believe the sight before his eyes. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen, Severus Snape, black eyes hooded with desire, shivering, moaning, and pulling on the green silk restraints, which had more play now that Severus’ arms were longer.  
  
He dipped the spoon into the bowl again, and then made another pretty trail of ice cream, this time down the middle of Severus’ belly, circling his navel, making the dark hairs there a sticky swirl, and then let the ice cream on the spoon slide off into a pool at the center. Severus moaned again, and Harry shivered in anticipation.  
  
Satisfied, he put the spoon back in the hovering dish, and started where he’d left off, licking and sucking his way down Severus’ sternum, down his flat belly, lapping at the sticky hairs, and then plunged his tongue into the cream pool, slurping up the luscious Cardamom. Severus writhed, and Harry nearly swooned when he moaned, “Harry,” in that delicious voice, drawing the name out in a deep, husky growl.  
  
Harry was desperate for more—more skin, more delicious noises, more Severus. He tugged Severus’ trousers and pants down, carefully releasing the big, beautiful cock that had been straining against the restricting material and couldn’t resist licking up its length like a lolly. His taste was salty with a heady tang that was all Severus, and Harry felt the hooded black eyes on him and looked up, smiling, before placing a teasing kiss and a quick lick on the sensitive head. Severus sucked in a breath, whether from the sight or the sensation, Harry didn’t know, but he continued his mission to relieve Severus of the cloth barriers and pushed them down his legs, dropping kisses in the sprinkling of coarse dark hairs on them as he went.   
  
He took the opportunity to shuck his own clothing while he was at it, and then looked up again at the sight before him. Severus’ lean, wiry body was taut with need, the black eyes smoldering with it; his cock lay heavy on his flat belly. Scars, nose and all, the man was simply gorgeous like that—wanton, breathless—and Harry felt his own desire throbbing throughout his entire system.  
  
Kissing his way back up Severus’ legs, Harry crawled onto the bed, nipping at the flesh just inside his knees, bending the legs up as he went. He kissed the back of one thigh and then the other, and then pressed Severus’ knees into his chest. “Can you?” he asked, then gestured with his hand for Severus to hold his legs in that position. The silk restraints, along with Severus’ arms, proved long enough and Severus nodded, but his eyes went wide when Harry summoned the ice cream closer to him.  
  
“Surely you’re not going to...?” Keeping a silent tally in his head, Harry reckoned this was the third time today that he’d completely stunned the man. That victory of sorts was nearly as arousing as the thought of the act he was about to perform.   
  
“Surely I am, Severus. I’ve wanted to for _years_ —now that I’ve got you where I want you, I’m going to live out a fantasy or three.” With a cheeky smile, he scooped out some of the slightly melted ice cream and drizzled it along the back of Severus’ legs, over the heavy sac. Severus shivered, and when Harry licked off the ice cream, he moaned loud and long.  
  
“Can you lift up your hips a bit?” The man complied without a word, and Harry had to take a deep, calming breath or two to quiet his hammering heart. By his reaction, he thought it possible that no one had ever done this for Severus before, that no one had ever seen this particular man in such a vulnerable position, and the significance of the moment was not lost on Harry.   
  
He reached for the spoon again, letting the creamy sweetness fall on the heavy bollocks, creating a little rivulet as gravity took it down into the crevice. Starting at the top, he gently sucked on Severus’ balls, cleaning the ice cream off of the soft, warm skin behind, moving steadily downward and parting the slightly rounded cheeks, then blowing a small puff of air against the cold ice cream on the puckered entrance.   
  
When Harry licked that line of ice cream, Severus made a noise that sounded something like, “Ghungh,” which Harry took to mean, “more.”   
  
When he ran the tip of his tongue around the wrinkled skin, then darted it slightly into and then out of the tight hole, repeating it several times, Severus responded with a string of, “Oh, oh, ohs.”  
  
When Harry, after inhaling deeply and reveling in the musky fragrance of the man, plunged his tongue in and out, working the ring of muscle, licking and sucking on the sensitive skin, thrusting the length of his tongue as deeply inside as he could then retreating in a rhythm set by his own pulsating need, Severus’ “Oh, oh, ohs” lengthened into a long, low howl of want and need.   
  
Filled with the exhilaration of having brought Severus to this, Harry kept at his task, thrusting and licking and sucking, until Severus growled in that velvety voice, “Unbind my arms!”  
  
Concerned, Harry sat up and helped Severus lower his legs, then with a flick of Harry’s hand, the silk ties fell away from Severus’ arms. The man impatiently yanked the sleeves of the blue robes off as well, and then with a growl, pounced on Harry, flattening him back on the bed and kissing him for all that he was worth. Harry wound his hands into Severus’ long hair, pressing their mouths together, hard and demanding, thrilled by the new turn of events.   
  
Severus broke the kiss, short of breath, wrapped his long fingers around Harry’s aching erection, and then commanded, “Now take this lovely length of flesh, and make good use of that hole on which you’ve just lavished so much careful attention.”  
  
Knowing which orders to follow, and which to question or disregard, had played a large role in Harry’s survival, so he didn’t mince words or waste actions. He quickly banished the still-hovering bowl and summoned the tube of lubricant he kept in his bedside table. He pushed Severus back down on the bed roughly, slicked up his own throbbing cock, pushed Severus’ legs back up to his chest, pressed a dollop of lubricant into Severus, aligned himself with the small hole, and then hesitated—he’d softened the tight muscles somewhat, but had it been enough?  
  
As if reading his mind, Severus growled again, “Now!”  
  
And Harry pushed in slowly. Severus was...god...Severus was so hot and so incredibly, unbelievably, tight around him. Truly impatient, the man wound his legs around Harry and pulled him closer, taking Harry in deeper than he would have done himself at that point. Harry couldn’t move, or breathe, or think for fear of coming undone too quickly. He reached deep within himself for some control and pulled back, nearly all the way out, and then plunged back inside the impossibly tight channel.   
  
Suddenly, ten years of fantasy became reality as Harry began thrusting with earnest, rolling his hips and angling his entry until he found just the right one. “Oh, god, Severus. So tight, uhnh, so good.”  
  
Harry took hold of Severus’ heavy cock, and Severus responded, “Yes, yes, yesssssssss!” repeating it like a mantra, in time with the rhythm Harry’s pumping fist and thrusting hips had set.  
  
Green eyes locked onto black ones, melted into them. Just as Harry was filling the man beneath him, he was being filled. He was surrounded by Severus—his musky scent still filling Harry’s nose; his taste still lingering on his tongue; Harry’s ears filled with the needful cries; his eyes beholding the beauty of the man receiving him into his body, until they merged completely, becoming a single organism whose sole purpose was to achieve this extreme pleasure, tenderly wrapped in aching joy.   
  
They climbed ever higher until they reached a glorious peak, and then shattering, they plummeted into oblivion as one, crying out each other’s name as they fell.  
  
~~*~~  
  
 _Petite mort, indeed_ , Severus thought to himself. He felt as if he’d been completely dismantled and then reassembled into something new, something much improved. It had been the most exquisite, the most intoxicating coupling of his experience. Never before had his desires, his needs been so tenderly, and yet so passionately met—never before had he been touched so deeply within and so thoroughly without. The only encounter of his recall that had been even mildly comparable had happened decades ago, with Regulus, while they had still been relatively innocent.  
  
Innocent.  
  
The glorious languor began to escape him as the implications of what he had just allowed himself to do settled heavily on his conscience. The arms lovingly wrapped around him from behind suddenly felt like a vice.  
  
“Severus, what are you thinking about? You’re so tense.” A kiss on the junction where his neck and shoulder met wrenched something soul-deep within him, and he could not answer.  
  
“Severus?” The arms withdrew and Severus felt his shoulder being pulled back so that Harry could see his face. “You don’t regret this, do you? Because I don’t—this is something that I’ve wanted for a long time, something I’d stopped hoping for.” Severus looked up at the boy, and Harry smiled fondly before continuing, “And for a super-spy, you’re not very observant; you missed every broad hint that I dropped on you.”  
  
He hadn’t missed them, of course; he’d attributed them to wishful thinking at the time, flights of fancy for an impossible dream, though he had no intention of handing over the power of that particular confession. Harry bent his head to kiss him and Severus let him, not yet ready to relinquish the wondrous but impossible connection that had suddenly grown between them.  
  
Severus had sold bits and pieces of his soul to the devil on several occasions during his lifetime, for a variety of reasons both good and ill, but the last time had been so that this young man would not have to. Was this his reward, or was it another punishment, dangling such a tempting yet unattainable thing in front of him? Why Harry would wish to pollute himself, to sully his good name in this manner, was beyond Severus, but as usual he had to protect the boy from himself.   
  
Swinging his legs onto the floor, he said, “This is impossible.”  
  
He suddenly felt tired and a little bit angry. And he could not make a dramatic exit, damn it, as he was not clothed, and what he had was designed for the short Muggle and would need some handy Transfiguration work before wearing them was an option.   
  
The bed shifted behind him and Harry slid off of it, all golden skin and supple musculature. “What’s going on here, Severus?” There was real concern in his face, along with a bit of apprehension.  
  
“Won’t your adoring public have something to say about your bedding a Death Eater?” It had been a very long time since he’d pointed out that particular character flaw in that particular tone, longer still since he’d actually believed it, and he found there was no longer any satisfaction in doing so.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I am the villain in this tale. The reviled ex-Death Eater.” Harry looked genuinely confused and Severus couldn’t account for it; perhaps the boy was dimwitted after all.   
  
“Severus, I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick here. Nobody thinks you’re a villain. Not anyone that I know anyway.”  
  
Severus scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed heavily. He stole a glance at the perfect nude form before him and wondered how in the world he’d arrived at this point. He had set out this morning with a shopping list of potions ingredients (commonplace ones, at that, nothing particularly volatile or remotely poisonous) and a few household items, eagerly anticipating his twice-weekly indulgence. And somehow, he’d ended his outing in Harry Potter’s bed—clearly not on his carefully prepared list.  
  
“Wait, is this what the Polyjuice business was all about?” Severus looked up at him and glared when the idiot boy actually had the gall to chuckle. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I just can’t believe that you don’t know, that all this time you’ve been thinking.... Don’t you read the _Prophet_? Well, I have some clippings. I felt like a bit of a girl about it at the time, clipping articles about you, but now I’m glad I did it. I think they’re in the office....”  
  
He grabbed hold of Harry’s arm as he started to move toward the door. “What are you blathering about, Potter?” Harry smiled indulgently at Severus, which set his teeth on edge. “And no, I do not read that rag. I manage to stay well enough informed without filling my head with that rubbish they pass off as news.”  
  
Harry turned his hand and raised it out of Severus’ grasp to cup his chin, forcing Severus to meet his eyes, and said gently, “You aren’t reviled. You are, in fact, celebrated several times a week, each _Prophet_ article ending something like: ‘The reclusive Potions Master could not be reached for comment.’ Let me show you, and then you can argue with me about it.”  
  
The hand left Severus’ chin, but the green eyes remained locked on his, almost willing Severus to believe in this fantasy. The door unlocked and swung open, and a lovely tooled leather chest landed neatly in Harry’s arms. Severus once again marveled at the casual power being displayed before the unlatched box was thrust into his own hands.  
  
Inside the velvet-lined box were the clippings Harry had spoken off, perhaps twenty or so, and Severus thumbed through them in utter disbelief. Headlines proclaiming his accomplishments, stories singing his praises, and all ending, as Harry had said, with a variation on a theme— _“The acclaimed but reclusive Professor Snape declined our invitation to be interviewed.”_  
  
It was ludicrous, yet right there in black and white; almost as surprising was the twinge he’d felt reading the honorific used in the present tense. He’d despised teaching, but the respect of the title sat warmly on his chest. He didn’t know how to respond, it was so completely contrary to what he had known as the truth for the last six years; instead he reached for familiar ground. Holding the articles between his thumb and forefinger, he fanned the smallish stack between them and said wryly, “I see that your penchant for hyperbole has not diminished at all.”  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. “They _mention_ you at least three times a week, I only clipped the important ones. And that’s not the point; the point is that you _should_ be celebrated, Severus. You’ve all but cured Lycanthropy, and your current research, the restorative for Cruciatus victims, has loads of people excited about the possibility that it might also help other spell-damaged patients. All of your work has made a huge difference in the Wizarding world, a huge impact in the way people live their lives.”  
  
Severus’ head was spinning. Could it be true? He knew that his work had been well received by the potions community, he’d been published many times in the industry journals, but they were scientists—a forgiving lot if the academic offerings were of enough interest and value. Perhaps his practice of incinerating mail that wasn’t from a known source had not been a wise one; he wondered too, what he might have learned from the gossipmongers he’d always relegated to beneath his attention—though surely he would not have believed this tale if he’d heard it from that source. Once again he was speechless; his entire world had been set on its ear and turned upside-down, several times, in the space of two hours.  
  
Closing the lid on the leather chest, Harry banished it to rest next to the abandoned ice cream bowl, and then moved between Severus’ legs, lifting his face again by the chin. “For all of your accomplishments though, I would feel the same if you really were the public’s villain, as you seem to think you are. I don’t give a damn about public opinion. Anyone with any opinion at all can just sod off for all I care.”   
  
In an effort to process the absolutely absurd new information, Severus closed his eyes. How could this be? Had he fallen down a rabbit hole? Into a bizarre world where he was professionally respected and sought after, where everything he had ever wanted, everything he had never let himself even fantasize about was being handed to him so freely, so eagerly? The risk in accepting was enormous; could he take the leap of faith required and willingly expose himself to another, in a way that he’d never before dared?   
  
The hand on his chin moved to brush gently against his cheek, and then lightly on his lips, and when it was withdrawn, Severus missed it immediately. That was an answer of a sort, was it not? He’d already become attached to the sensation, needful of the gentle touch.   
  
Warm, full lips touched his, asking the question that still lay between them, and Severus accepted all that was on offer by opening himself to it, giving as much as he was given. Where the other kisses had been hot and demanding, this one was tender, achingly sweet, but no less vital, no less intense. He let Harry push him back onto the bed, lost again to kisses that felt like the very essence of life.  
  
Strong arms squeezed him tight and Harry sighed into his neck. “I am so glad you picked Piers Polkiss to use for your Polyjuice persona.”  
  
A ribbon of jealousy wound its way through Severus. “So you did in fact know that person; it was not a ploy?”  
  
With a fingertip, Harry was marking a circular path on Severus’ left nipple, but he would not let that stirring sensation distract him from learning the truth.  
  
“I did know him, but not the way you think. He’s as Muggle as I am wizard—one of my cousin’s cronies. He used to hold people down while Dudley pounded them.”  
  
Severus was hard-pressed to imagine that insignificant little man as a bully, but he had no reason to question the statement’s veracity. “And were you ever on the receiving end of this treatment?”  
  
Harry grinned with pride. “Oh, I was too fast for them, and Dudley pretty much left me alone after I received my Hogwarts letter anyway. Wherever did you find him?”  
  
“At a Muggle club. It was easy enough to pluck a hair from him; he was fully engaged in humping an enormous blond man’s leg.”   
  
Severus wasn’t certain what had set him off, but was a little concerned when Harry’s hysterical laughter proved difficult for the man to bring under control. After a few fits and starts, and much rubbing of tear-stained cheeks, Harry finally sputtered out, “You have got to put that in my Pensieve! And if it’s him, we are definitely going to that club. I would _love_ to catch him at it.”  
  
He made a non-committal noise; he hadn’t been that impressed with the establishment. He also knew full well that if Harry wanted to go there, he would take him.  
  
Still curious as to what had given him away, he said, “That explains how you knew it was not this Piers, but it does not explain how you knew that it was I.” It was a bit galling, actually; he’d successfully used the Polyjuice for several years.  
  
“Honestly, Severus, you have an amazingly expressive face. You can say a million things with a single eyebrow—even when it’s not yours.”  
  
His ‘amazingly expressive’ face must have told Harry how disturbing the very idea was because he added, “Don’t worry. I’ve probably spent a lot more time studying it than most people. When I was younger, to gauge your mood, get an idea how class was going to go, but as I got older, especially after the war, it was just because I like looking at you.”  
  
Harry grinned brightly, kissed Severus lightly once, then again, and then lay back down, using Severus as a pillow. He yawned and mumbled, “Might need a quick kip.”  
  
They lay in a comfortable silence, and Severus let his fingers tangle in the unruly mop of raven hair—it was an unexpectedly soothing action—while he made an effort to assimilate yet another astounding revelation into coherent thought, which was proving difficult.  
  
“Severus, there’s something else you should know about me, if we’re going to be as involved as I’m hoping we will be.”  
  
Ah, here was the catch then, the other shoe he’d been waiting for. He fought hard against the sinking sensation. “And that would be?”  
  
“And that would be that I’m going to be a father, and I fully expect to share in the raising of my child.”  
  
Severus decided he would have to concoct a potion that would aid his brain functions; it would be the only way to keep up with the onslaught of absurd information he was being asked to process in a single day. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand—the other one, he’d just noticed, had moved from the mop of hair and was now occupied with the unauthorized drawing of circles on Harry’s back. “Would you care to elaborate on that extraordinary statement?”  
  
“Well, you know Ginny and Oksana have been together for five years now... and you don’t read the paper, so you wouldn’t know. Okay, Oksana Lysenko is the Seeker for Ukranian National. She and Ginny Weasley, who is a Chaser for the Harpies, have been together for a while, and have asked me to help them have a child. I thought about it for a long time, weighed everything very carefully, and agreed to it on the condition that they allow me to participate, to be a father, not just a donor. Gin’s three months along now, and we’re all moving into my big, empty house to raise our child together.”   
  
Severus could see a blush forming on Harry’s face, could feel the heat of it where his head lay, making him certain that what would follow would be, if possible, even more outrageous. "See, here's the thing. I’ve told you already that I... er, that I’ve been thinking about you. And while I didn’t buy the property specifically for it, it was just a silly little fantasy, really, when I saw it, but... god, I’m mucking this up and you probably think I’m barmy.... I know it’s way too soon, but if we ever wanted... if _you_ wanted, that is—there’s loads of room and an out-building that would be perfect for a lab.”  
  
The entire incredible thing had been said into Severus’ chest, where Harry had laid his head. He finally ran out of steam, or perhaps realized that he’d been babbling like a half-wit. It didn’t matter, Severus had managed to pick out the important points as they were being made: Harry was to be a father; Harry wished for him, at some undetermined future time (seemingly of Severus’ own choosing), to live in his house with him and his makeshift family; Harry happened to have room for Severus to have a space of his own if he so chose.  
  
It was ludicrous of course, but since he clearly had fallen down a rabbit hole, and was now mad as a hatter, he could consider this incredible proposition. Then his imagination created an image of a child, a girl who looked remarkably like Lily Evans might have at eight years of age, a precocious youngster to whom he could teach the beauty and the art of potions. When she called him, “Papa”, after triumphantly brewing a particularly difficult philtre, he knew that he truly had gone round the twist, but decided that being insane was much more agreeable than his life among the rational had ever been.  
  
“And what of the ice cream?”  
  
Harry raised his head up off of Severus’ chest, brows wrinkled in confusion. “Huh?”  
  
“Will there be Cardamom Spice ice cream?”  
  
After releasing a breath that may have been pent up in anticipation or anxiety, another of those glowing smiles grew steadily larger on Harry’s face, and Severus felt its warmth deep inside. “Oh, definitely. Buckets full of it. You and I are the only ones that eat it anyway; we might as well keep it at the house. Close at hand when we need it.”  
  
“In that case, I shall accept.”  
  
Severus was treated to another round of mind numbing kisses, and he surrendered without hesitation to the madness of fate. And ice cream.  
  
  
  
  
FIN


End file.
